


Somehow, This is Harry's Fault

by LeilaSecretSmith (orphan_account)



Series: Elves: the Ultimate Babysitters [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, DO. NOT. TAKE. THIS. SERIOUSLY, Erestor is Scary, Gen, Harry Ron and Hermione are all unofficial Feanorians lmao, Humor, Now with a bonus chapter!, The Author Apologizes, dubious assumptions about heritage, elfling!Harry, elfling!Hermione, elfling!Ron, fangirls are bad news no matter what dimension you're in, ish, they'd fit right in let's be honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-03-04 13:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LeilaSecretSmith
Summary: Hermione, Ron, and Harry all wake up tiny, naked, and alone in a forest. Things only get more ridiculous from there, and if there's one thing they know, it's this: somehow, some way, this is Harry's fault.





	1. A Little too Little

**Author's Note:**

> This idea started with "why are there no elfling!Ron stories?" and escalated from there. I'm sorry.
> 
> My 20th birthday is in two days, so in the manner of hobbits, here's a gift for all of you! 
> 
> (if you're really lucky and I get over the bit I'm stuck on, you might get another Harbinger's Song update too)

Hermione woke up pint-sized, naked, and in the middle of a forest. “Oh no,” she sighed, sitting up and examining her tiny, pudgy little hands. She looked about and found two children sleeping within arm’s reach. One was red-haired, the other black-haired, and both as naked and tiny as she. Scowling, she reached over and pinched the black-haired one on the soft flesh of his side.

“Wake  _ up _ , Harry!” she said. “I don’t know how this happened but it undoubtedly had something to do with  _ you! _ ”

Harry, for it was he, startled badly, rolling away from Hermione and into Ron (the other sleeping child). “Ugh, what?” he groaned, sitting up. He froze, eyes widening comically as he realized what had changed. “Uh…” He examined his hands with a kind of fascinated horror. “What?”

“That’s  _ precisely _ what I want to know,” Hermione said primly, looking around for some kind of cover to preserve her modesty.

On Harry’s other side, Ron mumbled groggily and rolled onto his stomach. “Five more minutes, mum.” 

Harry regained himself at that, reaching over and shoving Ron’s shoulder. “Get up! We’re not in the Burrow, we’re in trouble!” The redhead sat up as Hermione stood and toddled over to a nearby bush, intent on making herself a little skirt of some kind.

“Oi, what!” Ron exclaimed, examining himself. Almost immediately, he rounded on Harry. “This has something to do with  _ you,  _ doesn’t it!”

Harry reared back, his expression twisted in offense. “Me! What, you think  _ I  _ did this?”

“No, but you’re the one with ridiculous luck!”

“Boys!” Hermione snapped, now clad in a functional if not particularly attractive fern-skirt. “We can yell at Harry later,” (here Harry looked offended) “but the important thing is getting back to civilization. I don't have my wand, do you?” The boys both looked around and shook their heads in the negative. She sighed. “Well, I'll try to apparate then.”

Hermione straightened, squaring her now-tiny shoulders in determination, and focused hard on the Burrow. She stepped forward and turned sharply.

Nothing happened.

“Bugger,” the witch muttered.

“I guess we'll just have to walk,” Harry said. “But first… er,” he pulled his legs up to his chest and flushed crimson from his nose to his toes. “Do you think you could make two more of those skirts?”

* * *

 

Fortunately, it took only a few minutes of walking before they came upon a merrily bubbling stream. “Excellent,” said Hermione, pleased. “We can follow this downstream to civilization.”

“How far, d’you think?” asked Ron, thinking longingly of his mother’s cooking. His belly rumbled loudly. “I’m starved.”

Harry shot him a mildly annoyed look. “Weeks, maybe,” he said blithely, badly suppressing a grin when Ron shot him a horrified look.

“Oh, not  _ that  _ long,” corrected Hermione, waving a (tiny) dismissive hand. “Well, probably not,” she amended, and Ron’s expression went from reassured to horrified again. “Come on. The best way to find out is to walk.”

The day waxed hot as the three intrepid baby wizards hiked, staying at all times within sight of the stream. Hermione was insistent on getting as far as possible, but there was only so much that willpower could override the natural inclinations of their new bodies. By noon, they sleepily admitted defeat and settled down to take a midday nap, curling up in a pile beneath the sheltering branches of an enormous willow tree.

That was, perhaps, inadvisable, but fortunately for them the forest itself was enamored with the unexpected bounty of babies. Specifically, the unexpected bounty of baby  _ elflings,  _ though how those three had managed to miss the new points on their ears or their strange, unearthly glow was a true mystery.

So, the forest was more than happy to sing over the children, keeping them safe from all harm as they slept.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on whom you asked), it was this singing that drew the elves.

* * *

 

Hermione snapped awake, startled and disoriented. Harry was pressed against her back, and her head was resting on Ron’s shoulder. She sat up, rubbing groggily at the crust in the corner of her eyes. A yawn split her face, and she didn’t bother to cover her mouth.

Then she noticed the eyes.

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. She froze, hardly daring to breathe as she stared into wide, startled blue eyes half-obscured by foliage. She reached back blindly and touched Harry’s side, shaking him awake. As he snuffled back into consciousness, a tall, impossibly beautiful (glowing???) man emerged from the brush, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

The man was dressed in some of the oddest armor Hermione had ever seen. It wouldn’t have looked out of place at a Renaissance Faire or Fantasy convention, what with its impossibly graceful lines and detailed nature motifs—except that it looked really  _ real _ , like the suits of armor in Hogwarts. A sword (also real?) hung at the man’s side, but he didn’t draw it. Instead, he slowly knelt a good distance away, palms still raised, and spoke soft words that Hermione couldn’t understand.

“W’s’at, ‘Mione?” Harry mumbled sleepily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. 

“We have a visitor, Harry,” she said tightly. Harry and the man both startled visibly at her words, though for different reasons.

“Sindarin?” the man murmured in confusion as Harry exclaimed “WHAT!” Before Hermione could so much as blink, Harry was between her and the man, arms stretched out protectively.

“Easy, easy,” soothed the man, this time in English. “Can you understand me now, little ones?”

“Yes. Go away,” Harry said, straight to the point. Behind them, Ron mumbled something about spiders, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Hermione didn’t bother to wake him up. She would have attempted to explain their predicament to the man and ask for his help, but his strange appearance made her uneasy. Harry seemed to feel the same way.

“Where are your parents, little ones?” the man asked, inching closer and completely ignoring Harry’s demand.

“Dead,” Harry snapped, taut as a bowstring. “Go. Away.”

The man wisely stopped moving. “Ah,” he breathed, sorrow clouding his expression. “You have my sincerest condolences. Tell me, where are your minders, then?” His eyes flicked down to their makeshift fern-skirts, as if to say  _ do you even have minders? _

“Nearby,” Hermione lied quickly when Harry faltered. “Go away. We're not supposed to talk to strangers.” 

The man’s mouth curved into an amused smile, revealing freakishly perfect, pearl-colored teeth. In fact, Hermione slowly realized, everything about the stranger was freakishly perfect and inhumanly beautiful.  _ A Veela? _ she wondered.

“Well, my name is Glorfindel,” the man said. His eyes flicked to Harry. “Yours is Harry if memory serves, but what is your name, little maiden?”

“Hermione,” she said reluctantly. “Now please, go away!”

But Glorfindel shook his head and settled onto the ground, crossing his legs comfortably beneath him. “I cannot leave such little ones alone in the forest. I will wait here until your minders return.” The gleam in his eyes suggested that he knew Hermione was lying, and really, it was rather obvious. She herself wouldn’t have left them alone with such transparent falsehoods.

Hermione growled quietly and pushed her unruly hair behind her ears. She scrambled to come up with some kind of excuse or distraction, but over and over she drew a blank.

“Uh, Hermione?”

“Not now, Harry,” she hissed, chewing frustratedly on the nail of her thumb.

“Hermione!” 

“What!” She looked up, annoyed. Harry was pointing at Glorfindel, who was in turn staring at them with wide, shell-shocked eyes. Except no, Hermione realized, he was staring specifically at  _ her. _

“Ai Elbereth,” he breathed. “You are… an elfling?”

“A what?” He was staring at her ears. Why was he staring at her ears? Hermione reached up and brushed her fingers over the rounded shell of her ear—except, it wasn’t rounded. It was  _ pointed.  _  “Merlin, I’m Dobby!” she blurt out.

Harry, as if by reflex, reached up and touched his own ears, which were covered by his messy black hair. His jaw dropped in horror as he discovered his own newly-pointed ears. “I am too!” he wailed. “Wasn’t the shrinking enough? Now we’re house-elves!”

“One... two,” Glorfindel counted in a slow, dazed voice, his eyes so wide that the entirety of his irises was exposed. 

At that exact moment Ron sat up, his also-pointed ears completely unhidden by his short red hair. “What’d I miss?” he asked groggily.

“Three,” Glorfindel finished, and fainted dead away.

For a moment, Hermione and Harry gaped at the insensible figure. Hermione was the first to recover. “Ok, come on, let’s go!” she said urgently, pulling Ron up. “Before he wakes up!”

Together, the confused baby wizards ran, following the curving path of the stream. Within minutes they heard a great cry behind them, one of alarm and disbelief. 

“There’s more of them!” Harry gasped, already feeling fatigue in his stubby limbs. “Come on, we can’t outrun them, we’ll have to hide.” As if in answer, they came upon an ancient tree with enormous roots that gnarled and snarled and thus created a series of perfectly-sized cubby-holes for them to crawl into. 

“This is unbelievably suspicious,” Ron commented as they frantically shimmied in between the roots.

“It’s not like we have much of a choice!” Hermione snapped, cramming herself into the farthest corner.

“Quiet!” hissed Harry, taking the closest position to the outside. His expression was grim, though it didn't quite work on his tiny, cherubic new face. “I think they followed us.”

They huddled together behind Harry, Hermione frantically recalling every bit of wandless magic she knew and Ron wondering how much damage his tiny fists could do if worst came to worst. For a long, tense moment, silence reigned.

Suddenly, feet appeared in Harry’s line of sight. He caught his breath, rearing back in silent alarm and crowding Hermione and Ron further away from danger. One golden boot shifted as the person knelt, and then another weirdly-beautiful man was peering straight into their hiding space.

Profound relief crossed his face. He turned briefly and called out “here!” before turning back to the mini-wizards. “Hello, little ones,” he said softly, settling into a more comfortable position on his knees. “I am sorry if we frightened you.” He reached up and removed his shining helmet, revealing long brown hair braided in a circle around his head.

It also revealed the dramatic points to his ears.

“We’re all Dobby,” Ron whispered.

“Will you not come out?” the (apparent) elf asked gently, holding out his free hand. “I will not hurt you.”

An awful suspicion had begun to grow in Hermione’s mind, settling into her gut like a cold, dead weight. She swallowed hard and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder, cutting off his response. “Harry,” she whispered as quietly as she could. “I… I don’t think we’re—” she stopped and cast the elf a look. How good was his hearing? “I don’t think we’re, ah,  _ home  _ anymore,” she said.

“What?” Harry asked, turning and matching her whisper. Ron perked up in interest as well. “What d’you mean?”

“Well…  _ us _ , first off. But also everything feels different, and of course—” she cut her eyes back to the elf, who was watching the little powwow with undisguised interest “— _ them. _ They don’t feel… normal?”

The boys both paused to consider her words. Harry shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, as if tasting the air for the changes she had pointed out. “You’re right,” he murmured. “Bugger, what do we do!”

“Well…” she mulled over their options carefully, noting how others had begun to arrive in the clearing outside their hiding space.  _ Many  _ others. “They do seem to be, um,  _ Dobbies  _ as well.” She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “We don’t have resources or knowledge, especially not like this. We may have to take a leap of faith.”

“You can’t be serious!” Ron hissed. “They’re clearly barmy, ‘mione, just look at their armor!”

Hermione offered him a scathing look. “And just what do you suggest, Ronald? That we fight our way out? That we  _ outrun  _ them?”

Ron shut his mouth, scowling mulishly. “Well,  _ I'm  _ not coming out!”

Unfortunately, the decision was made for them when the tree gave a sudden, loud creak and  _ kicked  _ them (gently) out from between its roots. The three miniaturized wizards yelped as they tumbled unceremoniously out into the open, landing in a heap.

The elves were upon them in an instant, cooing worriedly and asking 'ai Elebereth, are you alright?’ or 'are you hurt?’ or 'what happened to your clothing?’ Blankets were produced, seemingly from thin air, the elflings wrapped securely, and before any of them quite knew what had happened they were each ensconced (read: restrained) in an elf’s arms.

Ron squirmed around in his holder’s arms to glare at Harry, who had slumped resignedly against his own holder’s chest. Hermione, carried in the arms a bemused-looking Glorfindel, was already busy asking rapid-fire questions in as innocent and childlike a voice as she could manage. 

“This is all your fault!” Ron hissed. “Merlin, what next!  _ Dogs? _ ”

Harry snorted. “I wouldn't tempt fate if I were you.”


	2. Intelligent but Incredibly Wrong Conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond draws some incredibly wrong conclusions about our favorite wizards' heritage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, this is a shitpost crack fic. Don't take it seriously.

The elves kept a constant watch on the three miniaturized Wizards, which made it rather difficult to come up with a consensus on what, exactly, they should do or say. Harry did his best to listen when Hermione pestered various elves with questions, just in case she was dropping hints. She wasn’t (it was too difficult) but he did learn quite a bit.

No, it definitely wasn’t their world. Wizards existed, but there were only five “in Middle-Earth” and from Glorfindel’s descriptions they seemed to be their own race or species entirely, not merely a subset of humans. Elves also existed, though they were a far cry from the house-elves the otherworlders knew. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all somehow taken on the forms of little elves, and after one particularly delicate round of questioning discovered that their new bodies actually matched their ages—in elf years. Glorfindel, specifically, also seemed to know that they had been reborn.

“You are like me,” he said, sad and a little bewildered as he gently ran his knuckles down Hermione’s cheek.

Apparently rebirth was a normal part of being an elf. That is, if they were in ‘Valinor’ in the ‘West.’ But they hadn’t woken up in Valinor. They had woken up in Middle-Earth, where darkness and war were brewing and the last elf-child had been born over a thousand years ago because of it.

(The timescale these elves lived on was utterly mind-boggling.)

By the time they reached ‘Rivendell,’ an important elven settlement, two days later, Hermione was pensive, Harry was quietly brooding, and Ron was uncharacteristically silent.

That didn’t last long, though.

Hermione, sitting at the front of the party on Glorfindel’s horse, was the first to notice. “Harry!” she squeaked in alarm, scrambling up to stand on the saddle so she could see over Glorfindel’s shoulder. The elf lord yelped, quickly grasping the reins in one hand and using the other to balance the little elleth. 

Her eyes were accusing. “We—you!—Your  _ luck _ Harry! This is  _ absurd! _ ”

“What did I do!” Harry yelled back, only to fall silent when he saw the veritable  _ sea  _ of elves waiting for them at the front gates. “OH COME ON!” he wailed, pulling the blanket up and over his face like a shroud. “What did I do to deserve this!”

Ron groaned wordlessly, pulling his own blanket up in front of his nose.

“I apologize, little ones,” Glorfindel said, sounding embarrassed. “I did not think word would spread so quickly.”

“Can’t we just… turn around?” Harry asked weakly, voice muffled. “Its ok, we don’t need civilization. Let’s just go become one with the forest. I’m ok with being a fantasy hippie, really.”

The elves didn’t understand half of what Harry said, but nonetheless they got the gist.

“Do not be so dramatic!” Harry’s  guard holder scolded in amusement, patting his head. “They merely wish to see you.”

“What if we don't want to see  _ them?”  _ Ron asked, glaring at the crowd, which was now buzzing excitedly as they spied the arriving search party.

“Surely there’s a less… obvious way to enter Rivendell?” Hermione suggested reasonably.

But Glorfindel shook his head. “Not without a substantial delay,” he said, gently resettling Hermione in front of him and pulling the blanket back over her shoulders. “Fret not, little ones. I am certain they will behave themselves, and you need not endure their… ah,  _ enthusiasm  _ for long.”

He was wrong.

He was very, very wrong. It was the wrongest he had ever been, up to and including his decision not to tie his hair up when fighting  _ a Balrog.  _

Which is to say, very wrong indeed.

By the time the elflings and their minders managed to get inside the shelter of the main building, Hermione was clinging to Glorfindel’s head like a spooked cat, Harry was attempting to burrow directly into his holder’s chest, and Ron was dangling half over one of the twin’s shoulder, yelling obscenities and waving one tiny fist at the over-enthusiastic crowd.

“ _ That  _ was behaving themselves?” Hermione squeaked shakily as Glorfindel pried her off his skull.

“No,” said the elf with an equal shakiness. “No,  _ that  _ was how the ellyth behaved when they first realized exactly who I was. Worse, perhaps. I would not characterize it as ‘behaving,’ save in reference to the behavior of wild animals.”

“Fangirls,” Harry said in a haunted voice, emerging from his shelter. His eyes were hollow and glazed.

Glorfindel, feeling a strange kinship to the ellon, passed Hermione off to one of the twins and took Harry into his arms. The little one shivered—lost, no doubt, in memories of past horror. “We are taking all necessary precautions for the future, Harry,” he said consolingly, smoothing the elfling’s unruly black hair down. Already he could hear Erestor dressing down the mob in strident tones. Glorfindel shivered himself. “I doubt they will risk Erestor’s wrath a second time.”

“I certainly would not,” said about half the guards at the same time (and in the same terrified tone). 

“Right,” said Harry, his eyes clearing with something like relief. Erestor’s incensed yelling sounded much like Snape’s, and for once that was a relief rather than a terror. He exhaled, relaxing into Glorfindel’s arms. This time he wasn’t the sole object of focus either.

The elves chattered on about Imladris as they walked toward ‘Lord Elrond’s’ office, explaining its history and most notable features to the elflings. Hermione paid rapt attention (obviously), and Ron was rather intrigued as well, but Harry was tired enough by the ordeal to doze in Glorfindel’s arms.

Thus it was that Hermione unflinchingly took the lead when they met (and were subsequently questioned by) Lord Elrond, spinning vague half-truths into a coherent story with ease enough to make any Slytherin jealous. The Elven Lord, also a great healer, accepted her story at face value but insisted on giving each of them a quick medical examination.

“But we're fine!” Ron said, dismayed. 

“Perhaps, but I would like to ensure that there are no lingering… complications,” he said calmly. Hermione grimaced. Apparently he hadn't swallowed her words wholesale.

Harry woke briefly at Ron’s exclamation, but Glorfindel was quick to lull him back into a doze, humming quietly and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He didn’t wake again until they were in the halls of healing, specifically when Elrond took him from Glorfindel’s arms and sat him upright on a high, padded table.

Harry’s eyes flew open and he squawked in alarm when the blanket was peeled away, exposing his naked skin to the cold air. Disoriented, he reached instinctively for a wand he didn’t have and tried to roll away from the invasion. 

Which, of course, mean that he rolled right off the table.

“Ai Elbereth!” Elrond exclaimed, scrambling to catch the elfling. He managed to snag an ankle, narrowly saving Harry from acquainting his face with the floor.

Ron burst into uproarious guffaws and even Hermione couldn’t quite hold back a surprised giggle. “Oh goodness, Harry!” she said, waving a hand in front of her face. “It’s alright, he’s just doing a checkup.”

“You’re a little late there, ‘mione,” Harry grit out as he was dumped back onto the table.

“Forgive me for startling you,” Elrond soothed, his hands quickly and expertly manipulating the mini-wizard’s leg as he checked for injury. 

“S’fine,” Harry responded, enduring the poking and prodding with an irritated frown. 

The elf lord, sensing Harry’s temper, was quick and thorough in his examination. He paused only at the elfling’s temple, his fingers hovering where the curse scar was—might be. Harry had no idea if it was still there. Elrond hummed softly and moved on a second later. When he finished, he wrapped Harry up in his discarded blanket and passed him back to Glorfindel. The process was repeated with Hermione (who was prim and cooperative, peppering Elrond with questions the whole while) and Ron (who glared at Elrond through narrowed eyes the whole time).

“Have no fear,” Elrond said when Glorfindel offered him a concerned, inquisitive look, “they are whole and hale, though they need rest.”

Glorfindel laughed softly, glancing down at Harry, who was fighting to stay awake in his arms. “I should have suspected. Time for sleep, little ones.” None of the miniaturized wizards had any objections to this, and in short order they were tucked together into an over-large bed.

(Hermione was  _ very  _ insistent on them not being separated—she may even have employed her tearful puppy eyes, big and brown and woebegone, in the service of this end.)

They all thought to stay awake and make a plan as soon as the elves had left, truly they did, but then Glorfindel settled into a chair by the bed and started singing a lullaby in his freakishly entrancing voice. 

Within minutes, they were down for the count.

* * *

 

Glorfindel eased himself up from the chair once the elflings’ chaotic, shrouded thoughts had smoothed into the vague contentment of sleep. And wasn't it strange, that ones so little would have such guarded and—dare he say— _ battered  _ minds?

Elrond was waiting outside, his arms crossed pensively over his chest and his eyes vague with deep thought. He looked up as Glorfindel soundlessly shut the door. “Three,” he murmured as they started back towards the Lord’s office. “Three children sent to us, all so strange and so guarded.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed with a tired sigh. “Cunning and untrusting. I wonder who their parents are, though I doubt they would tell us.”

Elrond waved a hand. “Not now, at least,” he said. “Perhaps in time, though we may hazard a guess or two.”

Glorfindel caught on easily. “The redhead, Ron. Feänorian? Or perhaps merely of Mahtan’s stock?”

“Or perhaps directly of Maedhros,” Elrond murmured, and the other drew back in surprise.

“Him? But how? Why?”

Elrond sighed. “I would not guess so, were he alone, but Harry… he reminds me very much of another Feänorian we know. His hair, together with his eyes…”

Glorfindel drew in a sharp breath. “Maglor? But his eyes—”

“—are grey? Yes, but his wife’s are not.”

“And Hermione?”

Elrond huffed, and said with dark humor “well, if we are following a pattern… Curufin would be my guess. She would certainly share her brother’s temperament. Celebrimbor was quite the inquisitive and canny child as well.”

Glorfindel was utterly bewildered and fell silent as they finally reached Elrond’s office, shutting the heavy doors securely behind them. “But then why are these children  _ here _ , instead of the Blessed Realm? And why such strange names?”

Elrond set his head in his hands and sighed deeply. “That, my friend, is what I wish to know as well.”


	3. The Gods are Dumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is revealed, another elf faints, and Hermione accidentally sticks her foot in her mouth.

“Oh dear, they didn’t get much warning at all did they?”

“Oooh, but look at them! So precious!”

“This is going to backfire spectacularly.”

“Oh yes. Honestly, I do not make a habit of questioning the Allfather’s decisions, but really!”

“Shush! They’re waking!”

Harry woke to this hushed conversation (that seemed to be taking place directly above his head), groaning and rolling over to bury his face in the pillow. He rolled into Hermione, but she merely made a displeased sound and shoved him a bit before subsiding. A woman laughed softly.

“Come on now, wake up! We have much to discuss.”

“ _ Much _ ,” said a knowing male voice. “Too much, and many things that should have been discussed  _ long ago _ .”

“Hush, Námo!” a different female voice scolded. “Honestly! There is to be no pessimism—or Doom!—in this conversation.”

“Yes, dear,” said Námo, sounding faintly amused.

Harry hesitated a moment before deciding that yes, he should probably address these strangers rather than go back to sleep. He rolled over, disgruntled, and cracked his eyes open. It was immediately apparent that he was not, in fact, still in the room he remembered falling asleep in. A clear blue sky stretched out above him, unnaturally bright and pure. Startled by this, he shot upright and nearly hit the face that was bent low over him.

“Woah!” laughed the woman he had nearly hit. “No need for such haste, my darling, you're alright.”

“What—who—?” He stuttered, eyes widening. The people surrounding them were  _ enormous _ , probably over twenty feet tall. They were in a field of thick green grass, kneeling or leaning or sitting cross-legged in a circle around where Hermione, Ron, and Harry were laying on blankets and pillows. “Hermione, wake up!” he squeaked, shaking her and Ron both.

“Agh!” Hermione screamed, jolting into consciousness almost immediately when she caught sight of one of the people above her. “Who—!? Where are we  _ this  _ time?!”

“It’s not my fault!” Harry blurt out reflexively.

Ron slouched upright, disgruntled by the sudden awakening, and yawned.

“Shh, it’s alright,” one of the Ladies soothed. “There’s no need to be alarmed. You are walking the Path of Dreams at this moment, my darlings.”

“The what of  _ what?”  _ asked Ron, bewildered. The three miniaturized wizards huddled together instinctively, back-to-back, and tried not to feel too terrified by these strange, kindly people.

“You’re dreaming,” translated a dark-skinned man with kind eyes and a kinder smile. “Don’t be afraid! We’re only here to clear up your confusion.”

“And who, exactly,” Hermione asked cautiously, “are  _ you? _ ”

The tallest man, with wise old eyes the color of the sky, spoke. “We are the Valar. The gods, if you will.”

Ron lept to his feet at this, eyes blazing with Gryffindorish fury. “So YOU did this!” he shouted, puffing up like a ruddy griffin cub. “Why I oughta’—!”

“Ron! Impulse control!” Hermione snapped, alarmed, and at the same time Harry wailed “what did I ever do to you!” 

“No, that’s not—”

“It’s—”

“Such spirit!”

“Nothing, dear one!”

“I  _ told  _ you this would backfire!”

The Valar spoke one over the other, until the tallest one spoke above all with a voice like thunder. “Quiet!” he commanded, and everyone, including the wizards, fell silent. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. That strangely human gesture did more to set the wizards at ease than any words could have—though Ron was still raring for a fight.

“I am Manwë, King of the Valar,” he said shortly. “Allow me to correct some erroneous assumptions.  _ We  _ did not bring you here, Harry James Potter.” Harry flinched at his full name, eyes wide. “Eru Illúvatar, the Allfather, called all three of you hence for reasons I will reveal if you restrain your anger and  _ listen _ .” 

He paused and Hermione, with one hand on each of the boys, said “we’ll hear you out, won’t we,  _ Ron? _ ”

Ron nodded, but only grudgingly.

“You united the Hallows and returned from Beyond the Veil,” Manwë said bluntly. Harry made a high-pitched, wordless keening sound, clutching his hair, but the Vala continued over him. “This stripped you of your ability to die again, Master of Death. Such is the curse of the Hallows. Eru saw fit to rescue you from an eternally cursed half-life by bringing you here, to our domain. He saw equally fit to bring your companions with you and endow them with the eternal life of the Eldar. These actions are irreversible.”

“That’s the shortest version,” Námo added dryly.

Harry was still keening, Ron looked utterly bewildered, and Hermione had her face in her hands. The kind, dark-haired Vala made a sympathetic (if a bit exasperated) noise and plucked poor Harry up and into his arms. It was a testament to how truly done the miniaturized wizard was that he didn’t bother to put up a fight as he was unashamedly mollycoddled. 

“Breathe  _ in _ , dear one,” the dark-haired Vala reminded him, patting his back for emphasis.

Harry paused his keening, took a deep breath—and continued keening even louder than before.

The Vala made another exasperated sound and glanced upward, muttering “that’s not what I meant” under his breath.

“So let me get this straight,” Hermione said in a shaky voice, raising her head from her hands. “Harry brought together a stick, a pebble, and a piece of  _ Merlin-damned fabric _ and now we’re in an alternate dimension, stuck as immortal fae-creatures forever, and  _ there’s nothing you can bloody well do about it? _ ”

The Valar all had the good grace to look uncomfortable, save Námo, who agreed with a blithe “quite.”

Hermione, quite understandably, burst into tears. Ron glared accusingly even as he gathered his sobbing girlfriend into his arms. “I’d wallop all of you if you weren’t six meters tall,” he growled in his squeaky baby voice. “No one makes Hermione cry except me!” 

Hermione whacked him sharply upside the head.

“Ow! What’d I say?” he whined.

“Oh, my poor darling,” one of the Ladies sighed, tears streaming down her face. She reached out and gently laid a hand against Hermione’s back. “Do not weep. All is not lost.” The witch felt her grief lift in increments under the Lady’s touch, clearing her mind.

Unfortunately for the well-intentioned Lady, Hermione with a clear mind was utterly merciless; the gesture of compassion immediately backfired. 

“All is not  _ lost? _ ” she asked scathingly, sitting up and wiping her face clean. “We’ve been ripped from our homes, condemned to never see our friends or family ever again, given to an alien people on an alien world,  _ but all is not lost,  _ is that it?” She glared furiously. “What exactly  _ hasn’t  _ been lost?!”

“Well, everyone you loved was going to die eventually anyways,” said the buffest of the gods offhandedly.

“TULKAS!” the other thirteen yelled as one.

“And  _ we _ would have died eventually too, that’s the  _ whole point! _ ” Hermione answered, voice strangled with fury.

“Not all of you,” said Tulkas with a pointed look at Harry.

Hermione was stymied by this, but Harry stopped keening to answer. “I would never have asked them to do this!” he yelled, forgetting his existential anguish in favor of outrage. His teary and red-rimmed green eyes were wide with disbelief and anger. “Never!”

“ _ Enough _ ,” Manwë said, softly but with steel. He massaged his temples, as if a god could get a headache. “Enough. We were not the agents who brought you here, nor can we send you back—your anger is wasted.” He sighed and raised his head. “We will speak to you again later. Wake up.”

* * *

 

Harry woke with a startled gasp and an aborted flail. He found himself bundled tightly in a blanket, held in Glorfindel’s arms, much to his bewilderment. The ef Lord looked relieved at his sudden return to consciousness.

“Oh, thanks be,” he said, holding the confused wizard a little tighter as he paced.

“Wha—?” Harry said, pausing when his voice rasped horribly in his sore throat. He turned a little and caught sight of Ron still sleeping in the bed, an elf perched near him, and Hermione in the arms of Lord Elrond, who was pacing in the same manner as Glorfindel.

“You would not wake, little one,” the golden-haired elf explained, brushing Harry’s unruly bangs from his forehead with one hand. Fear lingered in the depths of his eyes. “You were screaming but you would not wake.”

Harry was saved from coming up with a plausible explanation (besides “we were dream-kidnapped by the gods, who are kind of dumb by the way”) by Hermione, who roused to consciousness with a yell. “Why,  _ those _ —!” she seethed, and proceeded to curse the gods with a depth and breadth of colorful vocabulary that seemed to impress and horrify the attending elves in equal measure.

“Child!” Glorfindel said, as aghast as the most matronly of Catholic nuns in the face of such language. Lord Elrond seemed to be struck dumb, his eyebrows nearly merged with his hairline as he watched the furious she-elfling in his arms.

But Hermione wasn’t nearly done expressing her righteous outrage. “I swear, Harry, I’m going to—” she said, and further proceeded to outline, in excruciating detail, exactly what she wanted to do the beings who had dragged them there.

The elf attending Ron fainted, toppling off the bed and hitting the polished stone floor with a solid ‘WHUD.’ No one moved to help her.

A slightly hysterical giggle escaped Harry’s throat, quickly morphing into full-on howls of laughter. The hysterical edge became more apparent the longer he laughed. Finally, he snapped, and the laughter turned to sobbing just as abruptly as it had started.

“It’s alright,  _ tithen pen,  _ it’s alright,” Glorfindel whispered, “I have you. Shh, do not weep, I have you.”

“I want to go  _ home, _ ” he choked out, and suddenly Hermione was there, looking a teary-eyed herself. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” she said, taking his hand in her own.

Harry made a choked sound, blinking rapidly to clear the film over his eyes. “No,  _ I’m _ sorry for getting you dragged into this,” he countered in a wavering voice. “I would never have asked you to do this for me.”

“I know,” she said, two fat tears sliding down her round cheeks, “but I can’t promise I would never have done it.”

“Oi!” Ron’s voice came from below. Harry and Hermione leaned over the elves’ arms to see him standing on the floor, looking up with a fierce expression. He tugged sharply on Glorfindel’s tunic and the elven lord moved Harry to one arm, reached down, and picked Ron up with the other. “I’d have done it for you in a heartbeat, mate,” said the redhead, leaning over and clasping his friend’s shoulder.

Harry laughed, this time genuinely, and the tears stopped. “You two are the best friends anyone could ask for,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Honestly,” Hermione sighed with a resigned sort of optimism, “this is small potatoes compared to the War. We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, at least we’re not being hunted this time,” Ron added.

The arms holding them stiffened at the same time. “What  _ war? _ ” asked Elrond. “ _ Hunted? _ ” said Glorfindel, horrified.

“Oops,” Ron muttered, and Hermione lightly punched his shoulder.

“We were—er, that is… um….” she said, stumbling over her words as she tried to come up with a good explanation on the fly, and Harry settled back to listen. 

And if he felt just the tiniest bit smug that  _ this  _ time, it wasn’t his fault, well, he could hardly be blamed for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever add to this? M...maybe? It would be a scene fic if I did. We'll see.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek at what Hermione could have told Elrond; Bonus Ginny, Neville, and Luna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has even less effort in it than the others, and all of this was meant to be crack, so pardon any mistake.  
> And no, I am not planning a full story any time soon. I have too many WIPs as it is and I'm going to be heading to grad school soon-ish. My plate is full.

**Option 1: Hermione tells the truth**

Lord Elrond raised his head from his hands after what Hermione could only classify as thirty solid minutes of silent, internal screaming. The boys were dead asleep in a pale-faced Glorfindel’s arms, their soft snores the only sound in the heavy silence.

“Allow me to recap,” Elrond said in a deceptively calm voice. “You—all three of you—were once legally recognized adult mortals blessed with magic. Your Harry united three artefacts and lost the ability to pass into the mortal afterlife, at which point Eru Iluvatar himself brought you here as an act of mercy. All of this you learned through the Valar themselves—”those idiot gods” as you put it—in a dream.”

“Correct,” Hermione agreed primly.

“And you expect us to see you as adults?”

“Ah—well, yes.”

“You do realize that we eldar reach our majority at one hundred years, correct?”

“We’re...special cases?”

A beat of silence, then “no, no that won’t work. Forgive me, but you are still children by any metric we might use.”

Hermione made a frustrated sound. “But I literally  _ just  _ became an adult!”

“That is unfortunate,” Elrond agreed in a dry voice. Hermione realized her objection had sounded very much like whining befitting an actual child and shut her mouth with a grimace.

“Perhaps a compromise?” she suggested. “You consult us rather than making unilateral decisions about our upbringing and we’ll do our best to listen to you in return.”

After a moment’s thought, the elf lord nodded.

* * *

 

**Option 2: Hermione lies through her teeth**

“She was lying,” Glorfindel said when he and Lord Elrond retreated to the study.

“Oh, most assuredly,” Elrond agreed tiredly, plopping down into his chair with an appalling lack of elven grace. “But I think her unintentional points of honesty have given me enough clues to piece together an approximation of the truth.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. “Which is?”

Elrond sighed and slumped back in his chair, head tilted toward the ceiling. It ways days like this that he sorely missed his twin. Elros would have charmed the truth right out of Hermione and gone off to play with the children without them noticing they’d told him anything at all.

“In short, I believe they were born here, Ron and Harry at the same time and perhaps together during the War of Wrath. Hermione must have been Celebrimbor’s daughter, not sister, likely born shortly before he was killed. All three children were hunted by the Enemy and killed.” His voice dropped to a low, haunted timbre. “Brutally killed. They must have struck up a friendship in the Halls of Mandos, though why they were sent back  _ here  _ I cannot begin to fathom.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Well, shit,” said Glorfindel.

* * *

 

**Bonus: Ginny, Luna, Neville**

Ginny woke up naked, which was very Not Good. She also woke up tiny, which was equally Not Good, and in the middle of a silver-gray forest. “Harry,” she sighed, aggravated, as she examined her tiny fingers. “Honey, what did you do this time.”

Belatedly, she realized there were two other tiny figures laying near her. “Oh good, Luna!” she said, reaching over and shaking her best friend awake. “And... Neville?”

Neville startled awake as Luna yawned and smoothly sat up. “Oh Merlin,” he gasped, examining his hands. His eyes moved lower. “OH MERLIN.”

“The Nargles are at it again,” Luna sighed, combing her hair away from her face. “Next thing you know, there’ll be Wrackspurts everywhere!”

“Right, Lune,” Ginny agreed absently, busy searching for her wand. Much to her frustration, it seemed to have vanished along with her clothes.

“Hold on, what’s that?” Neville murmured, squinting and shading his eyes with one hand as he stared into the distance.  A humanoid shape resolved itself from the vague mists. “A person, I think,” he said to the girls. “Coming toward us at a good clip, too.”

Ginny, normally decisive and quick to act, was stymied. “Well… should we… run?” she said aloud, testing her words. Immediately, she frowned. They were naked and tiny, stripped of their wands, and in completely unfamiliar territory. “And none of us can apparate, especially without a wand...bugger!”

“Uh…” Neville said nervously, interrupting Ginny’s muttering, “Its a person, but… he’s moving  _ really  _ fast, Ginny.”

The redhead moved closer to him, squinting and shading her own eyes to see what he was talking about. She spared a second to note that her eyesight had sharpened quite a bit. “Merlin, fine, let’s at least hide,” she decided.

They stumbled over to a nearby tree trunk, putting the huge thing between themselves and the newcomer. Ginny crouched tensely, reviewing every piece of wandless magic she knew she could perform. It was a pitifully small list, but at least it was something. Neville appeared to be doing the same thing. Luna was completely unbothered as she stared at the trunk of the tree, her palms pressed against the rough bark, and Ginny had the strangest feeling that she was trying to communicate with it.

Before she was quite ready for it, she could feel the heavy-soft footfalls in the ground. She tensed, breath catching in her throat, muscles coiled like springs. A man ran past, his head on an alert swivel. He did a double take upon spying them, screeching to a stop and doubling back.

“Stay away!” Ginny barked (or rather, yipped), hands raised in preparation. A little corner of her mind noted that the man was absurdly beautiful and dressed in some of the strangest armor she had ever seen. There was a bow (?) strapped to his back, and knives at his sides. His hair was long and platinum blond and  _ stupidly  _ shiny, which made her think  _ Malfoy _ and did absolutely nothing in the man’s favor.

“Children, babies, what are—?” he muttered to himself, trailing off with a shake of his head. He crouched a good distance away, holding his hands out to show that they were empty. “You share my tongue, dear one?” he asked, addressing Ginny in an infuriatingly condescending tone.

It took her a moment to decipher the strange phrasing, but she managed it. “Yeah, so what?” she challenged, tossing her head. “Go away!”

He chuckled a little, disbelieving. “Ah, I am sorry, child, but I cannot leave you out here on your own. You might be injured, or become lost.”

Ginny bristled, but Luna cut her off. “We should go with him,” she said, pressing her tiny hand to Ginny’s shoulder. “The trees say he’s going to help us find people.”

“Better than wandering a forest naked,” Neville agreed  _ sotto voce _ .

Ginny considered this, lips pressed in a tight line. After a moment, she yielded, heaving a sigh. “Fine,” she said, looking to the man. “But I’ve got my eye on you.”

\--

The man, whose name was Rumil, turned out to  _ not  _ be a man, but rather an elf. Coincidentally, all three of the former wizards had become baby elves. Ginny and Neville took it pretty well, all things considered; Luna nodded sagely, as if this was exactly as she predicted (which, to be fair, she might have). 

Rumil wrapped poor Neville in his cloak, then stripped off his tunic and undershirt and draped those over Ginny and Luna. After a lengthy ten-minute argument, Ginny grudgingly agreed to sit on his shoulders while he carried Neville and Luna. They found his gait, even when running, to be unnervingly smooth, almost like the gentle rocking of a muggle car. After a few minutes it went from ‘weird’ to ‘weirdly soothing.’

_ I’ll just rest my eyes a second,  _ thought Ginny, cheek smooshed against the top of Rumil’s head.

This is how Rumil arrived back in Caras Galadhon burdened with three snoozing elflings, a dazed, disbelieving expression on his face. His younger brother was the first to spot him. He descended quickly from the lookout post, a strange expression on his face.

“Rumil,” he said, eyeing the children. “What strange tidings do you bring today?” which is the Lothlorien equivalent of “ _ what the actual hell did you find this time? _ ”

“Children, Haldir,” he replied, shifting Neville a bit. “ _ Elven  _ children.”

The marchwarden froze. His eyes flicked to Luna, then Ginny, then finally Neville. “Impossible,” he whispered, reaching out to brush Neville’s hair away from his unmistakably pointed ears. “There have been  _ no births.  _ How can this be?”

Rumil shook his head. “I know as much as you, brother. The children were… not forthcoming. Someone hurt them, or I am mistaken. But that is unimportant right now. Our Lady must be told.”

Haldir visibly gathered himself. “Of course. Of course. I will inform her myself.” He straightened, squaring his shoulders. “Take the little ones to the healers and have them seen to.”

“Of course,” Rumil said, bowing slightly in acknowledgment. The brothers parted ways, completely oblivious to the pandemonium that was about to erupt across  _ all  _ the elven settlements, starting with their kin in Imladris.

But that, my friends, is a story for another time. 


End file.
